


Losing Time

by romanticalgirl



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003) RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-12-05 06:30:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/719936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I hate airports</p>
            </blockquote>





	Losing Time

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [](http://inlovewithnight.livejournal.com/profile)[**inlovewithnight**](http://inlovewithnight.livejournal.com/) for the beta. [](http://nolivingman.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://nolivingman.livejournal.com/)**nolivingman**? You're not going to like this one. Might not want to read it.
> 
> Originally posted 12-30-06

Jamie smiles and nods at the hostess, assuring her that he’s fine, that he’s well aware that the weather isn’t her fault at all, he really doesn’t want a drink, and a hotel room won’t be necessary, thank you very much.

She smiles in return, looking as if she’s rather afraid he’ll turn on her like a dog and hurt her for the fact that there’s roughly seven feet of snow on the ground outside the terminal and the closest thing he’s going to get to a ride home is at least another twelve hours away.

Closing his eyes, he leans back against the plush leather of the chair in the VIP lounge. He can hear CNN in the distance, rambling on about the war and the state of the union and twenty other things he’s absolutely sure that Ron’s going to work hard to incorporate into Galactica next year – assuming there is a next year – and he sighs.

“If you change your mind, Mr. Bamber, the airline will be happy to shuttle you to the hotel.”

He’s used to the treatment. You don’t get to look like he looks without people hovering, wanting attention, wanting for him to notice. He gives her another smile. “Thank you. No. I’m fine.”

“I’m going off shift, so…” She looks disappointed, even though he’s wearing a wedding ring, even though she saw the pictures of his kids when he took out his wallet to pay for his coffee. “If you need anything, Barry’s at the bar.”

“Thank you.” He glances at her nametag and looks up, trained smile and bright eyes. Putting on a show. “Claire.”

She blushes and backs away, leaving finally. He sighs and drops the grin, closing his eyes once more and sinking further back in the chair. He’s half asleep from too many hours in the air and on the road and in front of fans asking the same questions again and again when he feels the light touch, the shift in the air.

“Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in from the cold.”

He doesn’t have to open his eyes to see Katee’s grin. His eyebrow goes up, and he smiles in return, his eyes still closed. “Isn’t that my line?” She sits on the table by his feet, her leg brushing his. He opens his eyes as she leans forward, elbows on her knees and grin as bright as the Christmas lights in the other room. She sparkles. “I’d ask what a nice girl like you is doing in a place like this…”

“But I’m not a nice girl?” She grins even wider and bumps his leg with her knee. “You knew that when you met me, Bamber.”

“I did,” he agrees, his voice as dry as the gin he’s not drinking. Not now. “One of the things I liked best about you, if I recall correctly. Of course, that was before you used the word little in conjunction with a description of my private parts.”

“Did I hurt your feelings?” She scrunches up her nose and he wonders how she can be so cute and so tantalizing all at once. “And I only said the cover was little. Anything else was just…implied.”

He huffs a soft laugh under his breath and shakes his head. She shifts closer, her leg pressed against his now, no subterfuge at all. “What brings you here?”

“Plane’s grounded.” She shrugs like it’s not a big deal, but he can see something in her eyes. Plotting and planning worthy of a BBC period drama, all sly dealings and underhanded exchanges. He should run while he can, take refuge in a book or a distant hotel room or something safe and sane. He knows better than this.

“You want a drink?”

“Pretty sure a beer isn’t going to do much to improve the weather conditions.”

“I was thinking it might improve your condition.” She reaches out and taps a finger against his knee. “Your expression is as black as the clouds out there.”

“Beer’s not going to help that either.”

“Probably not.” She stands up and she’s close enough to touch, which is why he doesn’t. “That’s why I’m going get a shot of tequila.” She saunters toward the bar, all brash and ballsy, and he can’t help but watch the sway of her hips. It’s different like this, different than Starbuck, but the same inherent Katee. She’s the girl beneath the bitch and the saint beneath the sinner. He pictures her barefoot in white summer dresses right up until she opens her mouth, curses like a sailor and he suddenly she’s the fucking White Queen from the comic books Ioan’s gotten into since filming Fantastic.

She comes back, two shot glasses in her hands. She sits on the table again and sets them down, licking her fingers clean. Jamie watches, unable to look away.

“You sure about that, Katee?” He shakes his head. “I remember what drinking tequila does to you.”

“Yeah?” She picks up the shot glass and smiles at it, her reflection distorted in the pale gold liquid. “And here I remember what me drinking tequila does to _you_.”

Jamie doesn’t breathe for a heartbeat. “We don’t do that anymore.”

She nods and shoots the tequila, closing her eyes as she licks her lips, licking her lips as she opens them and looks at him, nails him with a glance. “Right.”

He doesn’t say a word as she downs the second shot of tequila, her eyes on him, every intention written large in them. He swallows and lets his tongue slide out, wet his lips as he watches her. She sets the glasses very carefully on the table again and leans forward. He imagines that to the rest of the world, they look like co-stars having a chat, like friends sharing a drink, like everything but what they are.

“I have a room.”

“I have a plane to catch.”

“You’re not catching anything out of here until at least tomorrow morning, Bamber. And if you think that chair’s going to be comfortable in another two hours, you’re almost as sorely mistaken as your ass will be.”

“And you have a room.”

“I do.” She stands up, her fingers dragging across his shoulder. “Come on.”

He stands and grabs his duffel bag, falling in step with her. It’s a short walk to the counter to check on the flight, confirm that they’re here for the duration. The walk to the baggage claim area is longer, lines of people vying for space in the crowded confines of the airport. Katee eases through the crowds, head down and oddly quiet, guiding them toward an out of the way booth at the end of the room.

Another perk of stardom, Jamie thinks as the attendant calls for a car for them, not wanting them to risk braving the cold to cross the walkway to get on a bus and make their way to the hotel like the rest of the population. Katee comes back to stand beside him, proper and right and careful.

“I need to call Kerry and the girls.” He tosses it out there like a bomb on the ground between them. “Give them an update. Say goodnight.”

“Sure.” She shrugs as if it doesn’t matter, and sometimes he wonders if it actually does. “You want to call here or from the hotel?”

“Hotel, I guess. Quieter.” It’s almost a lie. The room they’re in is nothing like the rest of the airport. It’s quiet and closed off, more like a lawyer’s office than an airport office. The hotel room will be just them though, which has to be quieter, because he doesn’t think that any of the times they’ve done this – not enough and far too many to count – they’ve ever said a word.

The car comes and, if there’s one thing Jamie knows, it’s that there’s no privacy anywhere. He watches the driver watch them, and forces himself to talk about nothing and everything, bullshitting about Galactica and interviews and conventions. Katee’s full of laughter, edgy as fuck as she glances at him now and again, never coming close to touching him.

They get to the hotel after an age, too much snow making the roads slick and thick and bogged down, but they’re there, and Jamie tips the driver more than he should. Not a bribe or a pay off; there’s never anything to see, after all, and Jamie’s careful about keeping records, so he’ll have a room of his own here tonight. But the poor bastard’s job involves carting around self-indulgent Hollywood C-listers in blizzards, so his life’s rough enough without Jamie shirking him on the tip.

The desk clerk’s a fan and there are jokes running rampant about Starbuck and Apollo in their little hotel and feasts of the Gods and if Dualla and Sam know they’re there together. They both laugh and it used to be funny, but now it hits a little too close to home. Katee’s eyes are ice-sharp despite the heat in them, and they take their keys and take the elevator and still don’t say a word.

He follows her down the hallway – two doors down, how fucking convenient – but he never quite makes it as she opens her door and stands there, staring at him while she shucks her coat and tugs her t-shirt over her head and she’s not wearing a bra and her nipples are dark and hard and as much as he likes to think he’s got restraint and he’s got willpower, he’s still a man. Not much of one, he realizes as he pushes her back and closes the door and then pins her to a wall and kisses her, but enough of one that he doesn’t know how to say no.

She tastes like tequila, hot and bitter on his tongue, so he moves to her throat and sucks on warm, pale skin and tastes sweat and beer and the tired that clings like airline miles. She makes a noise, a whimper he can’t quite hear as he turns her, guides her against the wall and kisses the back of her neck, tracing dark ink with his tongue and lips. Katee moans, turning her head to watch him, lips parted on the soft echo of her breath.

He rests his hands on her hips, smoothing them along her waistband and across her stomach, fingers deftly unfastening her trousers and pushing them off her hips. She shifts as he bites her, the movement stuttered with her awkward gasp.

“J-Jamie.”

He turns her again, silencing her with a kiss. She moans and he moans, and he’s not sure if he’s thrusting his tongue or she’s sucking on it as her fingers scrape against his skin, working his t-shirt free of his jeans, tugging it up. She breaks away, gasping, her breath falling on his skin like the snowflakes outside, cold enough to burn. She tosses his shirt aside, heedless of where it lands, and leans in, her mouth closing over his nipple. Her tongue bathes it before her teeth rake over it, catching on the hard tip and worrying it.

He groans and lets his head fall back, his thumbs pressing hard to the curve of her hip then sliding beneath the thin silk of her knickers, caressing skin he’s got no right to touch. He pushes the fabric down, sinking down to his knees as he pushes it off of her, letting her kick off her shoes and the remains of her clothes as he parts her legs and parts her flesh and leans in.

She tastes like sin and lies and regret on his tongue, but they’re washed away with heat and want and desire as she leans back against the wall, hitching one leg over his shoulder and opening herself up to him. She’s all pink, wet flesh and his fingers and tongue move over every inch, exploring as if it’s all new found territory instead of something he knows far better than he should.

She moans and reaches down, her fingers threading in his short hair, tugging at the strands as he focuses his attention on her clit, licking and sucking on the hard nub. One of her hands curls into a fist and hammers against the wall, the sound running in perfect concert with the pulse of her blood in his ears, with the throb of her body as he slides two fingers inside the wet heat.

Her heel digs into his back, urging him deeper, closer. Jamie shifts and frees his fingers from inside her, wrapping his hand around her thigh, his wet fingers leaving trails on her skin. She whimpers and a quick glance upwards shows her eyes closed, her lips pressed together to stop any sound. He slides his tongue down, traces her flesh then returns to her clit, teeth and tongue working together until she gasps and shudders and comes.

Jamie eases her leg off of his shoulder and makes his way up her body, laying a trail of kisses up her skin. She’s shaking, her body jerking as he touches her, fingers and mouth exploring and teasing. Katee’s fingers tighten in his hair and she pulls him up to her, mouth open and hot as he meets it.

Locking one arm around his neck and holding him in the kiss, she slides her other hand down, undoing his jeans. Her fingers shake and she doesn’t go any farther than she needs to to work her hand beneath his boxer-briefs and find his cock. He groans, losing the sound in her hungry kiss, his hips jerking on instinct as her hand closes tight around him.

“Fuck, Jamie.” She breaks the kiss and releases him all at once, and he stumbles backwards. She fucking _pounces_ , shoving him back toward the bed until he tumbles across the mattress. This wasn’t his plan – suck her, fuck her and go – and this wasn’t the deal – couches, walls, floors, and random props, but never a bed – and her nails leave light marks on her skin as she drags his jeans and boxer-briefs off, shoving them down even as she crawls up his body.

“Katee.” He shakes his head, unsure of what he should do - _shove her off_ , his mind screams – but then she’s on him, wet and slick and so fucking hot, sliding down the length of him. Her chest heaves, breasts high and tight and moving as she moves, surrounding him, muscles and flesh clenching tight around his cock as she takes him in.

“’m on the pill,” she assures him and he nearly freezes. Kerry was on the pill the first time she got pregnant, and Jamie’s pretty fucking sure he’s not the only guy Katee’s fucking, given that he’s rarely the guy Katee’s fucking and he needs to stop this, but it’s hard to be frozen when her body is molten around his, her skin so soft and warm and she’s so loose and abandoned, but still manages to be that same sweet kid.

She leans in, moving so his cock is barely inside her. Her eyes flash like stars, ripe with knowing and she kisses him, her hands freeing his fists from the bedspread, guiding them to her breasts, helping him squeeze them. He groans and shakes his head, letting his hands move down her back instead, catching her arse and squeezing there.

Katee laughs, “Always knew you liked my ass, Bamber.”

“N-not any more than you like mine.”

Her eyes change and she shifts back, burying his cock inside her again. He groans and squeezes again and her laugh is kind of strangled, her hands still on her breasts as she begins moving in earnest. “Love your ass, Jamie.”

He closes his eyes and shuts off his brain – it’s easy to do, just forget, just pretend, nothing at airports is real, nothing but lost time – and just feels, unwilling to hear her and what she says or what she means. They’re quiet in his head, not a sound other than the slap and slide of flesh, the moans and gasps of pleasure locked behind closed lips and open-mouthed kisses.

His hands dig into her flesh, and he knows she’ll have marks when they’re done, red outlines of his hands, evidence that’ll fade before the flight tomorrow, but real enough when it matters. He opens his eyes and looks at her and she manages a smile despite her parted lips and hunger, despite the fact that whenever he’s with her, he’s also miles away, wherever his real life is.

Pulling one hand back, Jamie lets it slide over her hip, weaving a pattern of apology on her skin. She laughs when he hits her spot, ticklish all over most of the time but only here during sex, and he shouldn’t know that, so he skims over it then finds her clit again, flushed and swollen and something else he shouldn’t know, but he does and his fingers do and he teases her until her strokes around him speed up and change, erratic and desperate and her body clings to his and she’s gasping and he’s gasping and she comes, around him this time, and the heat and the tight and the feathered gasps of breath and words he makes himself not hear fall on him and he can’t help himself, can’t hold back.

Katee shivers and rolls off of him carefully, laying sprawled on the bed, body flushed and sweaty and hot. She turns her head and looks at him, eyes asking questions she never will, and he smiles, leans in and kisses her softly.

“G’night, Katee.”

She nods and does her best to steel her face, but she’s not that good an actress, hasn’t had enough rehearsal, enough training. Jamie gets up and goes to the bathroom and doesn’t look himself in the eye as he cleans up enough to get dressed and get to his room without something giving him away.

By the time he comes out, Katee’s wearing a t-shirt and her knickers and sitting cross-legged on the bed and playing nervously with the ring on her thumb. He dresses and watches her watch him out of the corner of her eye. Her jaw sets and she looks at him, eyes dark. “Say hi to Kerry for me.”

He nods and doesn’t laugh because it’s not even close to funny. “I will.” And she knows he’s telling the truth, because he doesn’t lie to Kerry, he just doesn’t tell her everything. He knows Katee wants to hurt him like she’s hurting, wants him to be sorry, but what she doesn’t realize is that he is, for all the wrong reasons and all the right ones as well. “I’ll see you at the airport tomorrow.”

“I fucking hate airports,” she mutters under her breath as he gathers his bag and slings it onto his shoulder.

“You lose huge chunks of your life in airports.” He knows that too well, also knows that, even when you go back to your life, you never get them back. They’re changed and different, irrevocably, without your permission, without you having a goddamned say. “Goodnight.”  



End file.
